Doris Hernandez still doesn't know who killed her son Freddy Cervantes two years ago. She said she doesn't need to know. She already forgives the perpetrator.

At a vigil in memory of her son the day after he died, she stunned a crowd of young mourners by telling them to let go of their anger and forgive the killer, too.

Just as Easter celebrates Christ's compassion and victory over death, Hernandez has embraced compassion for her 20-year-old son's killer and other young men and women who find themselves drawn into gangs and conscripted to commit violence. She will do whatever it takes to let them know they all are loved.

But just as the story of Christ rising from the tomb mystified even his disciples, Hernandez's capacity to immediately forgive her son's killer has baffled some in her Little Village community. Many families can not fathom, and even frown upon, her sympathy for the community's troubled youth. Still, her compassion has transformed others, including her own Roman Catholic priest.

"Continuing with the story of 'I need to find out who murdered my son' or 'There should be vengeance' or 'I'm angry at the person who did this' was only going to create further violence and animosity in the community," Hernandez, a Spanish speaker, said recently through an interpreter. Instead, the mother of three imagined herself in different shoes.

"While I as a mother, of course, was hurting, the mother of the person who did this was hurting more, knowing that her child is now a murderer," she said.

Hernandez's decision to forgive set her on a path to help others in Chicago — people involved with drugs, people who like her son had fallen into gang life or were resorting to violence and the parents of their victims. She launched Padres Angeles (Angel Parents), a ministry inspired by a movement in Mexico in which young people spotlight murder and corruption in the violent border city of Juarez by braving the streets dressed as angels.

Terrence Antonio James, Chicago Tribune

Doris Hernandez looks on April 1, 2015, as Father Tom Boharic reads from the Bible during a vigil for Hernandez's slain son, Freddy Cervante.

Doris Hernandez looks on April 1, 2015, as Father Tom Boharic reads from the Bible during a vigil for Hernandez's slain son, Freddy Cervante.

(Terrence Antonio James, Chicago Tribune)

Hernandez's efforts take her to perilous corners in Little Village where she beseeches young people loitering on the sidewalks to go home and stay out of harm's way.

"I never met anyone like Doris before," said the Rev. Tom Boharic, associate pastor at St. Agnes of Bohemia Roman Catholic Church in Little Village. "She can see things the way God sees things and step back. The mystery of Easter and the Resurrection is that when you're up close to something, you don't understand what's happening. It doesn't make any sense. She could see the bigger picture — that God had a bigger plan through all of this."

Gang life difficult to shake

Hernandez suspects her son's naivete and gang involvement led to his death. Cervantes was killed Nov. 17, 2012, after being shot in the face and chest while standing in the gangway of an alley.

Cervantes joined the Latin Kings around his freshman year at Farragut Career Academy, family members believe, following a childhood marked by divorce and bullying by gangs. His mother remembers the night less than two years after he joined when she found him beaten and bloodied at a friend's apartment.

I never met anyone like Doris before. She can see things the way God sees things and step back.— The Rev. Tom Boharic, associate pastor at St. Agnes of Bohemia Roman Catholic Church in Little Village.

"I got out, and I did it for you," Hernandez said her son told her.

Fearing for her son's life, Hernandez pulled him out of Farragut. He spent much of the next three years in GED classes or being sequestered at home.

The change proved temporary.

Cervantes, who according to records was never convicted of a crime as an adult in Cook County, was found by police in a stolen vehicle on Halloween in 2012, family members said.

Fearing her son was falling back into gang life, Hernandez confronted him days later.

"I told him, 'If this is something that you're considering, you need to realize that, because you left them once, they're going to make you do something very terrible to prove you have alliance with them,' " she said. " 'It will likely be murder someone or do something very heinous, where you will carry that with you.'

" 'I'm telling you with all the love in my heart, as a mother I'd rather them kill you than you kill someone else.' "

Eight days later, her son was dead.

'Opens your heart for God'

Hernandez didn't plan to broadcast a message of forgiveness to mourners when she went to the vigil for her son a day after his death. But then she saw their faces.

"I realized that as they were coming up to me and giving their condolences … they needed more consolation than I did," she said. "By forgiving someone in this way it opens your heart for God to come in and just heal you."

Hernandez's ministry has touched lives beyond the young people she seeks to help.

Boharic, the 30-year-old priest at her church, said he has been haunted by the idea of burying the children of parishioners and has often found himself at a loss for words when trying to console parents experiencing such a tragedy.

He said he can't merely tell a family to forgive the killer or let go of anger. Instead, he introduces family members to Hernandez.

"She can teach it. She can speak from her testimony," Boharic said. "She can speak in a way that I can't speak and most people can't speak. That's part of why we need her."

Raul Raymundo, CEO of The Resurrection Project, a Heart of Chicago agency started by six Catholic parishes including St. Agnes, said Hernandez's testimony is only the beginning. It's also the activism she's been able to inspire in other parents, to channel their pain.

"It's not just her story. It's the engagement part," he said. "She's modeling how it's helped her to cope with her loss."

Raymundo acknowledges that because of the grieving process for some parents, the mission of Padres Angeles has taken a while to catch on. Not everyone can forgive as quickly as Hernandez did. But once they do, the impact is extraordinary and contagious. Other parishes in The Resurrection Project's network have embraced her mission, he said.

At St. Pius V Roman Catholic Church, one mother leads rallies for immigration reform. Another works to support Latina women diagnosed with breast cancer. Others have become more involved with their children's schools.

"Instead of continuing to be angry, by making peace, their time is now invested in doing something productive," Raymundo said. "They begin to get involved for the benefit of their children."

Consolation

Hernandez said this Easter is bittersweet. Knowing her son is with God gives her consolation. So do the young people who, in addition to parents, have sought out Padres Angeles for support.

"We're not searching. The children are coming to us," she said. "It's showing that newer generations won't have all that animosity, all that hatred."

"I want to bring in that inner child that they have been silencing for so long or who society and family have been putting down," Hernandez said. "Give them the courage and the power to bring them out and better themselves because God brought them here for a reason. It's not to throw their lives away into the garbage. It's to become someone."